I’m not ready to get up. I hesitate for as long as I‘m able, a few moments. No sitting around, too much to do and not enough time. I crouch at the foot of the bed pulling on socks. I grab my phone. I climb down the ladder. Today I meet my fate like every other.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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